Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Copyright

She raised her hand to ring the bell, but the door opened and he was there.…

Andi walked inside—and into his arms. No words were spoken, none needed. Her face was buried against his shoulder and neck, his cheek against her hair.

So this is what it’s like to come home to Keith.

She had no idea how long they remained like that. It was she who finally forced herself to draw away as his hands moved slowly down her arms, taking her hands in his.

How could I have let this happen? What have I done?

“I’m sorry…” She didn’t want to look into his beautiful brown eyes, which could show such tenderness.

He lifted her chin with one finger. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please…It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.”

It’s not you I don’t trust. I had no idea that in one short week I could fall in love! With a man whom there’s no chance of my marrying!

And I’ve been so completely dishonest with you!

EILEEN BERGER

has been writing for many years, mostly children’s stories and poetry when her daughter and two sons were small, before having hundreds of other manuscripts published. She had been happy growing up on a farm, then living for a time in two major American cities, but feels blessed to continue living in the same north-central Pennsylvania town, Hughesville, where she and her husband, Bob, raised their now-grown children.

She is active in writing circles as speaker, teacher, board member, panelist, conference director and contest coordinator, but is especially grateful for the West Branch Christian Writers, the wonderful critique/support group without which she says she might never have got even the first of her six novels published.

A Family for Andi
Eileen Berger

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ask and it will be given you;

seek and you will find;

knock and the door will be

opened to you.

For everyone who asks receives;

he who seeks finds;

and to him who knocks

the door will be opened.

—Matthew 7:7-8

To Bob,

the man I love more than life itself.

No wonder I like writing romances!

Chapter One

Andrea Barker lowered the hood of her secondhand car, hoping she’d followed the mechanic’s instructions correctly. She knew little about motors, and her intention was not to fix this one but to make it break down.

She was limping more than usual, but should have expected that; she’d not tried driving long distances since the accident.

The trip from Chicago had been taxing, even though she stayed overnight in Ohio and stopped every few hours to walk a while. Now, getting back in the car, she massaged her right knee and leg before pulling the door shut, fastening the seat belt, and turning the ignition key.

The engine started, and Andi smiled. She was here in Pennsylvania. She took a moment to check her appearance in the rearview mirror before pulling out onto the highway—and resisted the urge to run a comb through her below-shoulder-length auburn hair or to apply color to her fairly full lips. The blue eyes looking back at her sparkled with anticipation.

There was a strange grinding sound, but the car handled fine, as the man who cared for their vehicles had promised.

Hurdle number one taken care of!

If only the rest would go this smoothly! Dad, though apparently understanding her concerns, had argued against her “harebrained scheme,” but she’d been adamant. “I really want to meet my cousins—get to know them. I realize there’s been an estrangement ever since your mother left when still in her teens, but…”

“They treated her very badly, Andi.”

“But that was a previous generation. Hopefully this one’s better.”

“I don’t want you hurt like your grandmother was.”

“Well, someone’s got to find out about them—at least how they handle what money they have now and what they’d likely do with a windfall, that sort of thing.”

“You think they won’t be on their best behavior with you there?” His heavy brows came almost together in that way that used to make her fidget before she learned to recognize the difference between frowns of concentration and those of disapproval.

“They’ll have no reason to be suspicious.”

He sat there shaking his head. “You’ve always liked fantasies, romances, and other not-for-real stuff. I’m afraid, my dear, that what you’re proposing falls into one of those categories. You expect to invade the town of Sylvan Falls, observe our relatives, win their confidence, and determine within a few days if giving them a large sum of money is a sound idea?”

When put like that, it did sound like an ambitious undertaking. “I don’t expect to accomplish it in a couple of days.” That had been months after the death of Jon—Jonathan William Bascomb III—and she was still on crutches, emotionally as well as physically. They’d grown up together and had been in the same grade from preschool through ninth—until his grandparents had enrolled him at Madison Academy to prepare for an Ivy League education.

Andi stayed in public schools, but they remained good friends. Even while he was at Yale and she at Michigan State, they had long conversations on the phone and were often together during holiday and summer breaks.

But then, on his twenty-first birthday, he came into that inheritance from his paternal grandmother—and things were never the same. “Jon would be alive today if it weren’t for all that money!” Andi had cried out as she sat with Dad in his den. “He had no conception of what to do with it—what he should do with it.”

“You must admit that most of his folks’ decisions have been good ones, Andi. The academy. Yale…”

“But he’d never handled money—much money. Whatever he wanted, he bought—the sailboat, the sports car, everything. And he was so generous and loving, always doing for others…”

Tears filled her eyes, remembering the plane he’d chartered to take twenty-seven friends to Paris last fall, to help celebrate his twenty-seventh birthday. And the diamond necklace he had insisted that she accept last Christmas. “And that led to disaster when his new ‘friends’ proved only too eager to help spend his wealth.”

Her father leaned back, raising the footrest of his cordovan leather recliner. His glance circled the big room, with its thousands of books, and all those snapshots of Andi, showing her eyes, fair coloring and regular features to be much like his own, though more feminine. “You’re convinced twenty-one’s too young for that much responsibility?”

“If a person hasn’t had experience with money, any age may be ‘too young.’ I appreciate your insisting that I learn about finance and investing—but Jon’s inability to handle it makes me concerned about our Pennsylvania cousins. I don’t want others destroyed by receiving large amounts.”

She leaned forward to look into his clear dark blue eyes. “I know we’ve discussed giving a sizable amount up front, with the rest in trust funds, but if they should be mean-spirited people whose love of money hurts them or others, even that’s no favor.”

She knew her father was a soft touch, and some found it easy to take advantage of his generosity. She almost reminded him about Mother’s only cousin, Lynne. They’d helped her out of two major jams—if they hadn’t, she’d have been in jail for years. But they made it clear that second time that there’d be no more money from them, ever.

Jon’s being killed was almost too painful to think about. Andi had known the inevitability of Mother’s death from cancer while she was a junior in college—but not Jon!

Dad had not been thrilled at the possibility of having Jon as a son-in-law, but he grieved with—or for—her. She noticed he’d made changes in his own life since then—losing that extra twenty pounds, cutting out smoking, watching what he ate, and exercising regularly.

She understood his urgency when speaking of updating his will, of making all those changes. “I’m glad you’re setting up the Barker Foundation, Dad,” she assured him, “and I’m all for the endowments to our alma maters and gifts to other schools and charities. But I’m concerned about your leaving so much to The Cousins.” She’d never thought of them as individuals, with personalities. “What effect might sudden wealth have on them?”

He pursed his lips. “Would you feel better if I hired a private detective? There’s a good one I’ve used.”

“I hope you didn’t have him checking on my friends.” It was a statement, not a question, and he neither denied nor confirmed it. Actually, she’d prefer not knowing if he’d investigated Jon. Or others. “Perhaps he could get basic information, since all we know is names.”

“I do know more than that, though nothing about what makes them tick, or how they handle finances.” He rubbed his square jaw with his palm. “We don’t have many to check, since my family wasn’t very prolific. Including us.”

She reached from her high-backed chair to place a hand on his forearm. “At least you had me.”

“Impossible to forget we were blessed with the best.” Smiling, he covered her hand with his. “As you know, I’m Katherine’s only child, and MaryJean is the only cousin in my generation—though she’s about fifteen years older.

“Her father, Michael, and my mother were brother and sister, but had no real relationship—not even letters back and forth, or phone calls. I never met him nor his daughter, but did learn that Mary Jean’s husband, Philip McHenry, died some years ago, leaving his wife and three grown children, who’d be your second cousins.

“They all live in or near Sylvan Falls…”

As they were finishing dinner a week later, Dad handed her a thick folder. Pushing aside her half-eaten strawberry sherbet, she riffled through the annotated sheets containing information on the McHenrys. “You’ve read all this?”

“Just skimmed. It arrived just before this morning’s staff meeting, and I had appointments all day.”

Until recently she’d been unaware of how demanding his schedule was, and how thoroughly he knew the workings of each department in the electronics company he’d founded. Now that she was here, learning the business, she had a new appreciation of both his leadership ability and acumen.

She’d agreed that she must become familiar with the work and staff of each section, but the experience was challenging. As “the boss’s kid,” she’d found herself pampered, ignored or fawned over—all of which she detested.

“Dad, I want to leave for a while.…”

“That’s not a good idea, Andi. Neither for the de-partment’s sake nor for yours.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

The right corner of his mouth quirked upward. “You could find you enjoy freedom more than on-the-job training.”

“I do enjoy what I’m doing, and know how necessary it is if I’m to become your assistant.” And I think you’re at least partly teasing, she thought. “You certainly guessed this wouldn’t satisfy my curiosity. Actually, it whets my desire for personal contact.” She tapped one sheet with a forefinger. “It says here that Mary Jean runs a bed-and-breakfast. If I’m lucky, perhaps I can stay there.”

“Nobody there probably knows I exist,” she said after they’d discussed a number of things that would have to be arranged, “but, just in case, I’ll need an assumed name, address and other identification.”

He looked at her over his glasses. “You’ve given this appreciable thought.”

“Yes. I have.” There must be no slipups, nothing carelessly left undone. “By the time I finish my time in Accounts Receivable, I hope to come up with a good reason for being there—and a way to stretch my time till I get all the information I want.”

So here she was, on a beautiful, hot Saturday, the tenth of June, driving around a curve, looking down on the Norman Rockwell-like town of Sylvan Falls. Since there was little traffic, Andi proceeded slowly enough to take in the regular grid of tree-lined streets.

Turning right onto Main Street, she glanced at the dashboard clock—5:23. All right. The garage was supposed to be here on North Main, and they’d probably not check her car till Monday.

Uneven numbers on the left side…500 block, 400s. Ah, there it was: McHenry Auto!

She paused for two northbound vehicles before crossing over into the lot where row after row of new and used cars, vans and trucks stood parked to her right. With little space for parking, she stopped beside a sporty, brightly polished new red pickup, satisfied that no one could mistake her dusty, purchased-for- this-trip, six-year-old vehicle as being offered for sale.

One of the three huge rolling doors along the side of the building was open and clearly marked, but she decided to enter through the glassed-in showroom facing the street. A bell jangled as she opened the door, and a loud buzzer sounded beyond the rear wall. She glanced around, smiling, already conscious of differences between Chicago and this small town.

A sparkling luxury sedan, a minivan, and two compact models were displayed in the spotless room. Good setup, she decided, walking between two of them. The rear door on the left swung open and a tall, brown-eyed man in tan, grease-smeared coveralls came toward her, wiping his hands with a towel. “I’m Keith. How can I help you?”

This couldn’t be her cousin, could it? That Keith was supposed to be an engineer. “My car, that blue hatchback out there—” pointing “—has been making a strange noise, and I thought…” Her voice trailed off.

“How long has it been doing that?”

“Not very long. And I realize it’s late.”

He nodded. “Especially for a Saturday.”

She tried to sound concerned; he must not suspect this to be what she wanted to hear. “I hesitated to drive much farther, the way it sounds.”

He listened with a thoughtful expression. An attractive thoughtful expression, Andi decided. “You’re right, but there’s no way it can be looked at today. There’s only one mechanic here this late, and he’s finishing up an emergency job. I know he’s got to get home.”

“What about you?” Why did I ask that? she wondered. I don’t want anyone doing it today!

“Sorry. I have a date in Dalton for—” a quick glance at the wall clock “—an hour from now. I can’t be late.”

“Oh.” He didn’t look apologetic, and she told herself that her momentary feeling of being a little sorry that he had a date was sheer foolishness. But he was incredibly handsome and had such a warm, friendly smile. “Well, is there anywhere nearby where I might stay till it’s taken care of?”

“That I can help with.” His warm hand under her bare elbow steered her toward the window. “See that big white house across the street, three doors down, with the big front porch? That’s my grandmother’s, and she rents rooms—though her sign’s too small to read from here, isn’t it?”

So Keith is my cousin, she thought. “It looks nice.” ‘Nice’ was such a weak word, but she couldn’t let him know how much more this was than she’d feared.

“If you’d like, I can walk over with you.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

After stepping back into the garage to explain about the car parked in the lot, Keith walked Andi to her car, where they collected the worn suitcase and garment bag she’d brought. “And you want your laptop, don’t you?” he asked, lifting the leather case.

“Yes, please.” She handed him the keys for the car before locking the doors. “I’d better introduce myself, since you’re taking me to meet your grandmother. I’m Anne Marker—and generally answer to ‘Annie.’” That’s close enough to ‘Andi Barker’ that I should respond when spoken to, she told herself.

“Pleased to meet you, Annie Marker. I’m Keith McHenry, son of the founder and owner of McHenry Auto.”

“Hello.” Their shared smiles made up for the lack of a handshake. “You work here with your father?”

“I used to, some, while going to school—but now it’s just to bring in my own vehicles and service them. Actually, I’m an engineer with a design group in Dalton.”

She stopped on the sidewalk, and he turned to look at her. “Were you finished? I shouldn’t take you away if you have to go somewhere.”

“You worry too much, Annie,” he said lightly. “You came at the right time. I’m about to go home and clean up.”

Better timing than you can imagine! she thought. As they crossed the street, several people in cars tooted or waved. “You’re a popular guy, Keith. You seem to know everyone in town,” Andi remarked.

His chuckle was deep-throated. “I do. But I think they’re all making such a racket because they’re not accustomed to seeing me with such a gorgeous woman.”

He probably thought she was flirting, she realized. She concentrated on not stumbling over several slabs of concrete sidewalk heaved by roots of the big old maples. “Does your grandmother have many guests staying with her?”

“Not anymore, not since several motels opened around here.”

They went up four steps to the wide, painted porch with a big wood-slat swing on the left and scattered comfortable-looking wooden rockers. Setting down the suitcase, he pulled open the screen door. “Graam, it’s Keith. Someone’s here to see you!”

“I’ll be right down, dear.” The voice sounded young and enthusiastic—not exactly what Andi expected of the woman she knew to be 75 years old.

He propped the door open with his knee and picked up the luggage, tilting his head to motion Andi in first. With the garment bag draped over her arm, she stepped inside the very large hallway as a slender, graying woman wearing denim shorts and a sleeveless knit top came running down the wide walnut staircase to greet her grandson with a hug and kiss.

He returned the embrace with no embarrassment. “Gram, this is Annie Marker, who has a problem. Annie, meet MaryJean McHenry, who’s the probable solver of it.”

They all started speaking at once, Keith explaining Andi’s need for a place to stay, Gram “hoping to live up to expectations,” and Andi, smiling at her own honesty in stating, “This does appear to be perfect.”

“What a babble, all of us together!” Mrs. Mc-Henry exclaimed. “But yes, I can help—if you find the accommodations satisfactory.”

Refraining from saying that anything that made it possible for her to stay here would be satisfactory, Andi simply nodded when invited to see the rooms.

They passed oversize doorways to two impressive rooms on either side of the downstairs hall—which itself could be an extra-large room in most houses. Even with massive pieces of excellent old furniture, there was much open space.

As the women started up, Keith offered, “Call if you decide to stay, Annie, and I’ll bring your things.”

Turning on the bottom step, she looked directly into his eyes. So, since she was five-eight, that would make him well over six feet. “I know you’re in a hurry and I’m sure I’ll like the room, so we can take them now.” But then she almost wished that he wasn’t right behind her, for he’d surely notice her slightly uneven gait.

He followed them up to the landing, then the six additional steps to another hallway as wide as the lower one. Here, also, were walnut or mahogany chests, a glass-fronted bookcase, and a huge, curvetopped armoire.

Mrs. McHenry crossed to the first room on the left, which had old-fashioned wallpaper delicately patterned with violet nosegays, trellises and ivy vines. The bed’s high, carved headboard and the other furniture could have been museum pieces, and the wellworn oriental rug made Andi want to kick off her sandals and relax. “It’s beautiful, Mrs. McHenry. I’ll be more than comfortable here.”

“Come see the other rooms. You might like one of them better.”

They checked the even larger north front corner room. A quilt-covered white-iron daybed stood along one wall, in addition to furniture comparable to that in the first.

The large bathroom had obviously been constructed from unused space at the front of the hallway. Its white, claw-foot tub and pedestal washbowl were like some she’d seen in magazines, probably the same fixtures bought when the house was “modernized” eons ago with indoor plumbing.

“This will be yours to use—if you stay.”

“I do want to.”

“Well, look at this, too—The Violet Room.” And she opened the door of the other front corner one. There was no need to ask why she’d called it that. Violets were rampant on the wallpaper; there was a violet pattern around the edge of the large carpet; violet-decorated bedspreads adorned both double beds; and there were even violet-patterned vases!

Keith drawled, “She sorta got carried away here.”

Andi feared Mrs. McHenry might be offended, so was relieved to hear her chuckle. “I’ve always loved violets, so was delighted to find wallpaper for both rooms. But my birthday was right after the paper was hung, so, without checking, everyone gave gifts with violets.” Her hand moved in a slow arc, palm upward. “Behold the results!”

Andi smiled. “Each room’s lovely in its own way, but I think I’ll choose the other violet room, with just one bed. Perhaps someone else will need these extra beds.”

“Possible, not probable.” Mrs. McHenry sounded as content as her shrug indicated. “Nowadays, it’s mostly people from the hospital or a nursing home who call to see if out-of-towners can stay for a night or so.”

Back in “her” room, the suitcase was placed on the bed and the computer and attaché case on the smaller, marble-topped chest of drawers, while the garment bag was hung in the closet. Keith kissed his grandmother on the cheek, said, “’Bye for now,” to Andi, and ran down the stairs.

Mrs. McHenry smiled. “That boy, he’s always hurrying!”

“He mentioned having a date.”

His grandmother cocked her head. “Oh?”

Chapter Two

Andi had been invited to come downstairs for some supper after she’d unpacked, so was soon following sounds of activity toward the rear of the downstairs hallway.

She passed a third, regular-size door on her left, and then was in the huge kitchen with built-in floorto-twelve-foot-ceiling cherry cupboards. There was an old, galvanized sink and early-model refrigerator/ freezer and electric stove—but also a top-of-the-line mixer, blender and microwave on the counter. “What a pleasant kitchen to work—to live in!”

“I especially like having all these windows on two sides—except when washing them.” Her hostess took bowls from a cupboard and reached into a wooden drawer for soup spoons. Setting them on the table, she brought a container from the microwave and divided its contents. Andi also saw a basket of homebaked biscuits on the table. “I hope you like chicken-and-corn soup, Miss—Miss? Marker.”

“Please…I’m Annie,” she said, stumbling slightly over the almost-Andi. “And yes, I’m unmarried.”

“Okay, Annie. And you call me MaryJean, if it doesn’t bother you to say that to someone of my advanced years. Or just Gram, if you like.”

Mrs. McHenry’s attitude as she spoke of “advanced years” made it plain that she felt anything but elderly. Considering her reason for being here, Andi had no difficulty making her choice. “Since Keith called you ‘Gram,’ I’d prefer that”

“Fine.” She motioned for Andi to sit near the corner, on the long side of the wooden extension table, while she took the matching cane-seated chair at the end. “This soup’s a favorite of my family. I make huge batches, eat some, give some away, and put the rest in the freezer.”

Andi’s spoon moved among chunks of chicken, pieces of hard-boiled egg, tiny dumplings, and yellow kernels of corn in broth as she waited for Gram to take the first bite—

“Do you want to return thanks or shall I?”

Andi’s spoon clunked against the side of her bowl as she hastily set it down. “Would you, please?”

Gram reached for Andi’s hand and bowed her head. “We thank you, Lord, for your many blessings, including bringing Annie safely this far, even though she had car trouble.”

Andi shifted uncomfortably as the prayer continued. “Help the boys be able to fix it, and help this delay to not interfere too much with her plans. I appreciate her being here, where I pray she’ll find rest, peace and renewal.”

How long has it been since I was prayed for? she wondered. Mother used to pray with her at bedtime, and when just the two of them ate lunch or dinner together, they’d sometimes hold hands like this. Mother also took her to Sunday School and church, before all those trips to the hospital began.

Gram concludcd. “…Thanks, also, for this nourishing food. Amen.” She patted Andi’s hand before reaching for her spoon. “Where are you heading? And when must you get there?”

Andi had expected her story to be easy to tell, but now, after that prayer, felt uncomfortable—even though convinced that her motives justified her actions. She had to learn about her family—about The Cousins.

“There’s no set time—no exact destination,” she admitted. “Just driving around New England and sightseeing, so I don’t mind staying a while.”

Gram’s head was cocked to the side again, birdlike. “All by yourself? Won’t you get lonely?”

Probably Gram would miss people. Surrounded by family as she was, she probably never had a chance to be lonely. “I wanted to spend time by myself.” She surprised herself by adding, “I just lost an especially good friend.”

She was embarrassed by tears in her eyes; they still came too readily. “It was—an automobile accident. Jon was killed.”

Gram’s hand was on her arm and then she was getting up from her chair to stand beside Andi’s, drawing her close, holding her. “I’m sorry.”

No sounds except for a truck’s passing on the street. The buzzing of a fly at the back door. A distant lawn mower. Yet in some strange way Andi felt comforted.

Gram returned to her seat. “My Phil died suddenly, too. I know what a shock that is.”

Andi looked into the clear blue eyes of this woman whom she was already beginning to consider a friend. “I’m sorry, too—about your loss.”

They began eating and the on-and-off conversation concerned soup ingredients, and the size of the community and what went on in it. “Next weekend will be busier,” Gram told her. “It’s the annual Firemen’s Carnival.”

“What’s that?”

“All the towns around here, except Dalton, have their own volunteer fire companies. We think Sylvan Falls’s is the best—and it is. We win contests year after year. But it’s horrendously expensive to buy equipment and pay for repairs and uniforms and stuff, so they need money-making projects.

“Over at Caldeer, they have hunters’ breakfasts round-the-clock for three days at the beginning of deer season, and at Murrayville, there are elaborate skeet shoots a couple of times each year. At Parsons Springs, next north of here, they specialize in familystyle dinners for Mother’s Day and Thanksgiving and Easter—times like that. But here in Sylvan Falls and at a number of other places, there are carnivals.”

“What is your carnival like?”

“Well-l-l, it’s one week when everyone in the community has fun together. There are parades some nights—pet parades, floats and fire equipment and vehicles—that sort of thing. Our school band performs, as well as. any from other towns that can be coerced into comin’. And the Little Leaguers, 4-H members, Scouts and kids from twirling and dance studios are here, even nursery schools—so there are many adults and children watching from the sidewalks.”

She got up, retrieved a half-gallon carton of butter pecan ice cream from the freezer, and scooped large servings into cereal bowls. “The Firemen’s Building and lot are one block back and two over that way,” she said, flicking her hand in a southwesterly direction.

“A day or two before the official opening, trucks arrive with the Ferris wheel, merry-go-rounds, Spiders, Moonwalks, slides—all sorts of things. In the meantime, the firemen and the Auxiliary, which is very active, set up things for chicken barbecues or pig roasts or whatever dinners are to be served. Others prepare the pizza, ice cream, and hot dog and barbecue stands. Or whatever.”

She returned the carton to the freezer. “By the time it’s all done, hundreds are involved—baking cakes or pies, setting up tables, selling raffle tickets for a donated quilt, cooking for the dinners, overseeing a coin-toss booth where prizes are anything from stuffed bears to vases.”

“That sounds interesting. I almost wish I could stay.”

“Well—” she placed Andi’s dessert in front of her and returned to her own chair “—maybe you can.”

Andi was grateful for that, but tried to keep from appearing too eager. “Depending on the car…”

Andi hadn’t realized how tired she was until she tried to watch a comedy on TV. She sat with Gram in the room to the left of the front door, which Gram referred to as the “TV room.”

Gram seated herself in the center of the tapestrycovered couch and picked up her knitting. Andi chose the spindle-backed rocker with cushioned, petit point seat partly because it looked comfortable, but also to be facing the front windows looking onto the street.

She hoped others of Gram’s family might come, but they didn’t. She got up during a program break and walked over to the upright piano, where photos were displayed on its flat top. “Are these your children and grandchildren?”

Gram laid down her handwork and came over to pick up a framed picture. “This is our oldest, Phyllis, a second-shift nurse at the hospital, and her husband, Hal Bastian. He’s a mechanic. Did you meet him at the garage?”

She shook her head. “I arrived late and saw no one except Keith, who came when he heard the buzzer.”

“Well, they have only one child, Evelyn, and she teaches second grade. And this is her husband, Frank, and their kids, Brock and Melody—aged six and four.”

The children were leaning like bookends against their seated parents—bright-eyed, dark-complexioned Melody, with an impish look on her face; blond Brock, more serious.

Andi indicated the children. “They’re beautiful. Are they as different as they look?”

Gram laughed. “If they came in right now, Brock would sit with us and carry on a grown-up conversation, while Melody, the whirlwind, would be checking out the kitchen, running up and down the stairs— and might very well be going through your things upstairs!”

“In that case, I’ll keep things locked.” She must do that, at least with her laptop. She didn’t need in-quisitive little hands revealing—or destroying—data!

Some pictures appeared to be recent shots and some, much older. Andi picked up one of a little boy, dressed in a striped T-shirt and blue jeans, who proudly held a disgruntled-looking calico cat. Although the boy looked to be only six or seven years old, his wide warm smile and sparkling eyes were unmistakable to Andi.

“Is that Keith?” she asked Gram, already knowing the answer. What a dear little boy he seemed. Her heart felt a rush of warmth at this precious glimpse into his childhood.

“Yes, Keith and one of his many pets. All the strays in town seemed to follow that boy home. Zack used to joke about opening a petting farm.” Gram laughed.

Gram took the picture from Andi and gazed down at the image with a loving expression. “Our Keith…I couldn’t love him more if he was my own blood.”

“What do you mean, ‘your own blood’?”

“Well, my son Zack isn’t Keith’s natural father. Keith’s father died when the child was less than a year old. It was maybe two years later when Zack married Shelby and legally adopted him.”

While Gram set the photograph back on the piano, Andi felt such a moment of sadness for Keith, having lost his biological father at such a tender age. Then a flush of excitement followed. She and Keith weren’t even distantly related. She need not feel any concern at all about her attraction to him.

Gram reached for another photo, showing a middleaged couple and a stunningly beautiful blonde. “This is Brad—Bradley Eugene McHenry—married to Paula, a lawyer. And their daughter, Vanessa. Her degree’s in computer science, but she works as secretary to the president of a computer technical support company.”

Hmmmmm, she thought. Gram didn’t mention Brad’s profession. But she hadn’t said what Frank did, either, so that’s probably not significant. “With that background, Vanessa’s probably invaluable to her boss.”

“She calls herself a—an executive secretary.”

“Is that here in Sylvan Falls?” There was no mention of such a business in her file.

Gram slowly, precisely, replaced the likeness. “In Dalton. She lives there now, so I don’t see much of her.”

Is that disapproval in her tone? Andi wondered. “You saw a great deal of her when she lived at home?”

“Not as much as I’d have liked.”

The phone rang, and Gram went to the kitchen. She was talking into what she later referred to as her “walk-around” as she returned. “…There’s a lady from Chicago spending the weekend here…No, waiting for her car to be fixed…Yes, everything’s fine here. How ‘bout you?…Keith stopped for a few minutes, and all seems well with him.…I’d love to, Karlyn, if you promise not to go to a lot of trouble… Great! See you in church. And thanks…”

Andi had returned to her rocker, and Gram laid the phone among the balls of yarn as she returned to the sofa. “That was Karlyn, Zack’s daughter.”

Zack? That must be what they call Isaac Mark Mc-Henry, Gram’s younger son who owns the garage—Keith’s dad.

“She lives on the other side of town, in one of those new houses. She’s a sweet girl—tough, though, thank goodness! That ex-husband of hers got another woman pregnant, one of Karlyn’s friends—or so she’d thought! Anyway, Karlyn divorced him and he married Danielle Catherman a month before their baby was born. At least Karlyn got the kids and the house and child support. And she teaches art in the elementary school.”

MaryJean’s such a willing source of information, Andi thought, that we wouldn’t have needed that investigator!

They watched one more comedy before Andi, using the arms of the chair to push herself up, said, “I’m bushed. I think I’ll soak in the tub, then go to bed.”

“I’ll bet you’re tired, especially with your leg…”

Neither Andi nor Gram had mentioned her injuries until now. “It’s better than it was, but does still bother me.”

Gram’s dark blue eyes showed concern. “What happened?”

“I—” Did she want to get into this? “—I mentioned my friend’s being killed in an accident. I was in the car with Jon when it happened, though I don’t remember much after the first few minutes. I…guess I knew he was dead, that there was nothing to do, yet I kept trying to free myself—to reach him.” The horror was still there. She lived it daily—and nightly.

“And then there was—nothing at all till I came to in the hospital. And learned he was gone…”

The stairs seemed longer than when she’d climbed them earlier, and as she plodded upward she asked herself why she was talking so much about that accident. Not only had she mentioned his death during the evening meal, but now again.

I must get hold of myself, she thought.

Mrs. McHenry had told her that the dresser along the outside wall was for her use, so she put underclothes, T-shirts, sweaters and shorts in the second drawer. Into the top one went several good pieces of costume jewelry, along with socks, belts and other small items.

She placed four top-of-the-book-list novels and her travel alarm on the bedside chest, and carried her flower-print pajamas and toiletries to the bathroom.

While water ran into the tub, Andi took off her clothes, then twisted her hair, fastening it up on top of her head. Holding onto the rim of the high tub, she stepped in and lay back against its comfortably sloped end. What luxury! Many changes had been made in modern plumbing, but nothing beat the big oldfashioned tubs!

She dried her hands on a fluffy white towel before picking up the National Geographic from the stand beside her. Finishing the first article, she went on to the second, after adding more hot water to the bath.

She was tempted to go on reading, but told herself that Gram might want to use the facilities. Reluctantly climbing out, she dried herself and got into the cotton PJs.

Perhaps hearing the bathroom door open, Mrs. Mc-Henry came into the hallway from the second room on the left. “What time will you be getting up in the morning, Annie?”

“I’m—not sure.”

“I was asking because of breakfast.”

“Oh.” She’d momentarily forgotten the second part of bed-and-breakfast. “Whatever suits you is fine with me.”

“Well, I always go to Sunday School and church.…”

“What time are they?”

“Sunday School at 9:30, church at 10:45.”

“Do you get dressed and ready before eating?”

“Usually. Almost always when folks are staying here.”

“So what time should I be downstairs?”

“Is 8:15 too early?”

There was hopefulness in her voice. “Sounds fine.”

Andi had started toward her room again when she heard Gram say, “I hope you won’t mind, but Keith often comes for Sunday breakfast, then we walk to church together.”

“That makes it nice for both of you.”

“Yes, it does. Especially since his fiancée broke off their engagement last fall—and went off with some fellow she’d known less than two months! Keith and Sandy used to go to church and everywhere together…You’re welcome to go with us,” Gram invited. “We have an excellent pastor.”

Andi had no intention of allowing herself to be coaxed, so was evasive. “We’ll see in the morning.” She stopped to look at titles on the spines of old volumes in the tall, glass-fronted bookcase next to her doorway, and Gram came to stand beside her. “Most of these were Mother’s, some her mother’s—and some my own additions.” Opening the doors, her hand caressed the books.

Recognizing only a few of the authors, Andi randomly pulled out one book, Daddy-Long-Legs. “These covers are attractive—like this one, with its vine-surrounded heart and still-red roses. Modern publishers could take lessons.”

She opened the book and read aloud. “By Jean Webster, With illustrations by the author and scenes from the photo-play, produced by the Mary Pickford Company starring Mary Pickford.” Curious, she turned the page and was not surprised to find its copyright date was 1912.

Several pages were coming loose, so she handled the fragile volume with care, appreciating that the black-and-white photos were as clear and sharp as when published. “May I borrow this tonight? I often read myself to sleep.” Always have to, actually, said an inner voice.

“Of course—that or anything. I read them when a girl, my kids did, then the grandkids. You might as well, too.”

It felt good to be included with the family of this friendly, outgoing woman. Andi sighed with contentment as she climbed into the high old rope-bed and leaned back on pillows propped against the headboard.

The book had large margins, so she supposed she’d finish the whole thing before falling asleep.

But she drifted off at page sixty-three.

Laughter, teasing, wind blowing her hair. The squealing of wheels making sharp turns, the exhilarating high of speed.

Excitement turning into concern.

Reaching out, Please, Jon, slow down.

Laughing reassurance that he’d never had an accident.

Child running into the road.

Scream of brakes. Grinding protest of car’s frame.

Massive tree.

Thunderous crash of metal. Of glass.

Folding back of metal, wrapping itself around Jon.

Around her.

Agony…!

Andi awoke, gasping for air, reaching for Jon—who was not there. Staring wide-eyed around the unfamiliar room, lighted only by moon-glow filtered through maple leaves.

Submerged in terror.

Oh, God! But she’d given up on God long ago—as He’d doubtless given up on her.

Chapter Three

The door was closed, so turning on the light wouldn’t waken Mrs. McHenry. That helped some, and Andi started those slow, deep breaths that the therapist had recommended.

Her panic gradually lessened and Andi got out of bed to walk around the room, barefoot, looking at pictures on the wall. She forced herself to examine minute details, to concentrate on realities, on the substance of her surroundings.

It might help to get a drink of water—but she stopped, hand on the knob, then leaned back against the door. This was a bed-and-breakfast, but would it make the owner nervous to have someone walk around in the middle of the night?

And it was the middle—2:28. With many hours yet to get through! But—and this was the good part— she’d slept several hours, without pills! She’d been trying so hard to get off all that medication.

She looked at the worn volume beside her bed. It wasn’t boring, but was not terribly exciting, either— not like the books she usually read. She’d brought novels by top mystery writers, hoping they’d lure her into a plot in which she could lose herself—yet it had been the old-fashioned Daddy-Long-Legs that accomplished that.

She carried the book to the dainty little ladies’ rocker which, low and comfortable, seemed perfect for this room, and read several more short chapters before moving back to bed. Her leg bothered her, so she rubbed that while continuing to find out more about the orphan girl who was given a college education by an anonymous benefactor, and thus thrust into an entirely different environment from that in the foundling home where she’d spent her life.

The viewpoint character’s reactions to people and events are delightful, Andi thought, and her little sketches add poignancy—but how little similarity there is between her college experiences and mine!

She turned pages until, at 3:17, she heard the blast of sirens and recalled Gram’s speaking of the volunteer fire company. Before long, emergency vehicles and equipment were rushing by on the previously quiet street.

Going to one of the windows, she saw ladder trucks, pumpers, an ambulance, and other equipment she had no names for, all with flashing lights. She hoped no one would get hurt and that the fire would be extinguished quickly.

Eventually she became drowsy, put the book aside, turned off the light…and slept.

Setting the alarm had seemed unnecessary when getting ready for bed, but she had to hurry to get downstairs by 8:13—three minutes before Keith came in the front door and sauntered through the hallway into the kitchen. He kissed Gram and greeted Andi, “Good morning. You look like you got a good rest.”

“So do you,” she responded. He’d been goodlooking in coveralls, but was downright gorgeous with the white, short-sleeved cotton shirt emphasizing the musculature of his tanned arms. And the lightweight, gray, sharply creased slacks made those legs look even longer.

“I’m afraid that’s another case of appearances being deceiving.” He grinned before turning to Gram. “I was on that fire call last night, out at Alf Harner’s place—the trailer he set up for his daughter, back of their house.”

Andi started to say that she’d seen the vehicles go by, but he continued. “Nobody hurt, thank God, but a lot of damage. I don’t know why Marjie was doing laundry at that time of night, but apparently lint in the gas dryer caught fire.”

They talked more about that before Gram asked about last evening’s date. Apparently amused, Keith glanced toward Andi, his brown eyes sparkling. “Everything went well, my dear grandmother. And how was your evening?”

Her response was just as breezy. “Very good. We watched TV and visited, and the time passed quickly.”

Andi felt a bit uncomfortable about having shared that with Gram, so she changed the subject. “Do you live in town?”

“Sure do—down the street a block.”

She didn’t think that she should ask about a family, but on this block the houses appeared to be too large and old for a single young man. She brought herself up short as she looked around the kitchen in this beautiful old home; some might think this too big for Gram, too, yet Andi couldn’t imagine her living in a two- or three-room apartment

“How are you coming with that staircase?” Gram asked.

“Slo-o-owly. Very slowly. But I am making progress, and that’s what’s important”

He’d been pouring orange juice as Gram turned the French toast in a heavy, cast-iron skillet. Instead of setting Andi’s glass on the table, he handed it to her. “What are you doing with your…staircase?” she asked.

“Long before I bought the house at auction two years ago, some idiot painted all the wood in the house white—even the hand-turned spindles on the banisters, which are as elaborate as those in this house. I checked and found that everything’s made of chestnut, if you can believe that!”

She was evidently supposed to be impressed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why that’s special.”

He carried maple syrup to the table, and sat down. “I don’t know about Illinois, but one of the major deciduous trees in Pennsylvania used to be a very large one—the chestnut. Many houses and barns around here were built of its lumber, as was much of the furniture. But then a blight came along and wiped out the American chestnut—”

“All of them? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“Just like that,” he replied. “All of them.”

Gram corrected him. “There are still a few, Keith.…”

“Not like they were, though. What have survived are runty little things, more like large bushes which live long enough to have a few crops of small nuts, then die.”

Gram placed the coffeepot on a trivet and joined them at the table. “Penn State’s forestry department, and other specialists, are working on resistant strains, but I don’t know how they’re making out. But it would be generations before we see chestnut lumber suitable for construction.”

“And so,” her grandson went on, taking Gram’s hand in his, “I want my chestnut exposed in all its glory.”

Andi hadn’t expected him to reach for her hand too, but willingly gave it, when he said, “Gram lets me offer the prayer when I come for breakfast”

That sounded fine until, looking deeply into her eyes, he suggested, “You may have that privilege if you’d like.”

“Oh, no!” Startled, she would have withdrawn her hand had he not been holding it firmly. “Thanks, any-way.”

This was the second time she’d been in this kitchen during prayers. Keith asked that those teaching and preaching would be blessed and that today’s services would go well and be meaningful for all who participated.

And then, quite conversationally, he prayed for Andi—thanking God that “Annie” had gotten here safely in spite of car trouble, and asking that her car could be fixed without too much difficulty.

She sneaked a look at him when he asked that her leg would soon get completely well. She’d said nothing to him about the accident nor her leg, and doubted that Gram had.

It was while eating her second piece of French toast covcred with syrup that Keith asked if she was joining them for church—and she realized she might like to. “Will your family be there?” That would be an additional incentive, she thought.

“Mom and Dad rarely miss. And my sister’s always there with her two kids.”

“How would I dress if I go with you?”

Gram’s open face showed pleasure. “You look fine as you are, Annie, with that lacy blouse, slacks and sandals.”

“Are pants okay?”

“Of course—though you have time to change into a skirt if you’d feel more comfortable.”

She hadn’t meant to glance toward Keith, but saw his nod. “I’m with Gram. You do look good, just as you are.”

Heat crept up into her face, and totally unnecessary words spilled out. “I’ve been wearing pants most of the time since the accident—because of the scars.…”

His glance flicked downward, then back to meet hers. “Are they really that bad?” he questioned softly.

“To me, they are.”

His even, white teeth gnawed his lower lip. “Are you…a competent judge of that?”

That ankle and foot tucked behind the left one and were pulled as far back as they’d go under her chair. Her chin tilted upward. “I am the judge of that.”

His gaze held hers for an uncomfortable moment before he looked toward Gram and asked her to pass the syrup.

Now I’ve blown it! she chastised herself. I shouldn’t be so supersensitive. But they’d asked her to go with them, and she would.

It had been years since she’d been in church except for weddings and funerals. She used to go with Mother when they still lived in Claremont, back before Dad quit working for someone else so he could try developing his ideas and patents into practical inventions.

That was when Mother went back to teaching, so there’d be a steady income. Things were tough financially, and though she’d tried, Andi hardly remembered Dad from those days when he routinely spent twelve to eighteen hours a day at work.

But she’d never forget Mother—always cheerful and supportive, always there for Brownies, then Scouts, and for swimming and flute lessons. Never missing a band or choir concert. Taking her to the library and the museum.

By the time Dad had his twentieth patent; by the time the plant was built in Chicago and things were going really well there, Mother’s health had begun to fail.

In spite of the cancer, she’d been able—at what cost to herself?—to furnish and decorate the new house and to serve as hostess for countless business dinners. When she went with Dad on trips to resort cities and other wonderful jaunts tied in with business, Andi was left at home. Mother would come back more exhausted than when she left, and gradually cut back on traveling. And on entertaining.

It had been fun having Mother around more, but Andi had not known the reason until six months before her death.

Why didn’t you tell me, Mother? Andi silently wondered. Why didn’t you let me know what you were going through? Oh, yes, I was busy with school and doing things with friends, but those weren’t important. I’d much rather have spent that time with you.…

They passed two churches—one stone, the other brick—as they walked to the vinyl-sided church on Maple and Second streets. Smaller than the others, it resembled those on Christmas cards: white, with a corner bell tower, and large old pin oak and maple trees along the front and side.

They entered the sanctuary through the red front door, Keith carrying a tall pottery vase filled with Gram’s multicolored iris. Striding up the center aisle, between the rows of pews, he set the arrangement on a marble-topped table in front of the centrally placed pulpit.

He shook his head when Andi asked if the screening around the organ and choir, and the ornately carved pulpit and high-backed cushioned chairs on the platform, were made of chestnut. “I’m fairly sure they’re walnut.”

The sun shining through the stained-glass windows on her right gave an iridescent glow to everything, and she found herself whispering, “This is lovely.”

“We like it” The wrinkles radiating outward from the corners of Gram’s eyes deepened, and her voice showed pleasure. “Maybe partly because the Mc-Henrys and the Barkers—my side of the family—have come here for generations. It’s home.”

How odd, thinking of church as “home,” Andi thought.

“You have a choice,” Gram said. “I’d like to take you with me, of course, but Keith’s in the Builders’ Class—mostly young adults. You’d probably like that best”

“That sounds like a good idea.” But perhaps Keith wouldn’t like that. Turning, she asked, “Is that all right?” Perhaps she was putting him in a bad situation, what with his date last night.

If he had reservations, he didn’t express them. As they entered the hallway, he introduced her first to Patsy Harriman, the pastor’s wife, then to others as they went down broad steps to the area beneath the sanctuary. Nine men and women were seated in a large circle, while others stood around a table holding a large metal urn and tray of cookies.

“Tea or coffee, Annie?” he asked, and she chose the former. She wasn’t thirsty, but holding one of those foam cups would give her hands something to do. However, introduced as Gram’s friend, she found that she need not have worried about being accepted.

Karlyn Tinsman, Keith’s sister, was one of the last to arrive. It turned out that she was the teacher—a tall, outgoing, hazel-eyed woman in her mid-thirties, wearing her dark brown hair in a French twist.

She accepted being teased about her lateness—saying she’d lost track of time while preparing for a picnic—and proved to have a delightful sense of humor and an aptitude for getting input from students.

Even Andi contributed a thing or two—which she’d never have expected. Toward the end of this class on stewardship, Karlyn read something from the Bible about “talents,” which Andi gathered didn’t refer just to one’s abilities or skills, but also to the use of financial resources in a way pleasing to God, as well as to others.

“Congratulations!” Karlyn was beaming as though she really meant it. “You have just won the sweepstakes and are receiving ten million dollars, coming to you in a lump sum. I’d like you to take the next few minutes to make a list of what you’re going to do with your windfall.”

Cheers and laughter greeted this announcement, and the man to Andi’s right—Jeff-something—waved the blank sheet she’d just handed him. “Way to go, Karlyn, giving us paper from an extra-long legal pad!”

When someone complained about Uncle Sam getting his big cut first, Karlyn shrugged. “I’m feeling generous today. We’ll make that ten million after taxes.”

There were good-natured comments and joking, and Andi noted that most participants began doing what was requested. Several, however, seemed to have difficulty thinking of more than a couple of things, and one completely ignored the assignment.

If she really believed that God did this sort of thing, she’d wonder if He meant for her to be here this morning.

Keith, whose paper was being filled with remarkably neat writing, nudged her arm. “Come on, Annie, join in. Today you’re one of us.”

“I’m—not sure what to put down.…”

“You must have had times when you thought, ‘If I had enough money, I’d like to…whatever.’ Well, here’s your opportunity to spend a lot—quite painlessly.”

She tried to suppress the smile she felt coming. If you only knew, Cousin Keith—if you only knew!

Well, she and Dad had decided on large endowments to universities, so she wrote: “Schools and Education.” And “Red Cross” and “Salvation Army,” because Dad had seen, long ago while he was a marine, how well they’d helped those in need.

“Grants for Cancer Research,” because of Mother.

She’d just written, “Family and Friends,” when Karlyn said, “Now put 1, 2, and 3 by those you’d do first.”

Keith was giving frowning attention to “Contributions,” while Jeff was griping, “How does a guy prioritize taking his family on a round-the-world cruise or hiring the best golf pro in the world to improve his swing?”

A short, heavy man across the circle hooted, then assured Jeff that the latter would be a waste. “There’s no way you’ll ever get that swing of yours under control!”

Jeff stage-whispered, “Don’t judge our whole church, Annie, on the nastiness of one man.”

“I won’t.” She laughed. “I promise.”

Keith had crossed out several numbers and was still putting others before entries, when Karlyn announced, “Time’s up! Now, please share your first three with us.”

There was laughter and some groans, but no one volunteered. “Okay, how ‘bout the first one?”

Andi was surprised that it was Jeff who led off with a serious response. “I suspect most of us would do what I’d want to—pay off all debts. In my case, that includes mortgage, car and loans for college expenses.”

Some nodded, and he continued, as thoughtfully as before, “My second would be setting up trusts for the kids’ education—and I’d investigate the possibility of locking in at least one fully paid tuition at Penn State.”

“Very good! Anything else you’d like to share with us, Jeff?” When he shook his head, Karlyn asked, “And now, who’s our next brave soul?”

A young red-haired woman said that since they lived in a too-small rented house, she’d first of all buy a place big enough for all of them, preferably with land. And since she and her husband had been wishing the kids could attend Dalton Christian Academy, she’d use some for that. Three children were presently in public school, and the youngest would begin kindergarten in the fall.

“What about you, Keith?” his sister enquired. “You’ve been busily writing.”

“I still am. I’m not finished yet.”

Jeff reached across Andi to grab Keith’s almostfilled sheet, and held it up for all to see. “I can’t even write that fast, much less think about what I should put down!”

Keith patiently held out his hand for it. “My number-one priority has to be giving a tithe to the Lord— but I had trouble knowing in what form that should be. Some of my other expenditures could come from that million.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, things for the betterment of society or, under certain conditions, of individuals. What about a new pumper for the fire company, or gifts to a specific department of the hospital, or to the Pregnancy Center Project? Or perhaps to Habitat for Humanity? Should they be part of this tenth, or would they be in separate categories—perhaps numbers four, five, and seven?”

Several entered that discussion, and Andi paid avid attention. Keith, having brought up the topic, continued to be involved with it, and helped Karlyn encourage those hesitant about expressing opinions.

Two others stated they’d written “Tithe” as their first item, and Andi gathered that was the same as “one-tenth.” She knew that the many donations and endowments made by her father or in the name of the company would add up to more than that—and each was carefully noted for tax purposes.

She fleetingly wondered what her university or country club friends or co-workers would think of this conversation. What might they say if they were here?

Was it possible any would agree with this consensus? She doubted that, but it wasn’t the sort of thing they discussed. She couldn’t even say how Jon thought of money—his money. He had to have thought about it, didn’t he? Or had he just spent, wanting to be liked, needing…what?

She’d had wonderful times with him, and they’d talked of getting married—but she now faced the fact that during these last years she knew little of what went on inside. She’d tried to bring up deeper issues, but he’d quickly turn her away from them, sticking to fun things.

Had he been hiding from her? From himself?

She pulled herself back to the present. She shouldn’t be dwelling on this now, especially here.

Karlyn was tying things up. “…What’s important to you—important enough to top your list of ways to spend money? And what do you consider really worthy of your time? There are necessary things like sleeping, eating, doing essential shopping, and spending 40 hours at work for many of us, and/or with baby and child care for some.

“But we still have—though I know it often doesn’t seem like it—hours or minutes when we’re not required to do specific things. What about those? What are you doing with your free time?

“And how well are you controlling your thoughts? It’s true that anything can enter your mind, but what priorities have you set as to which ones remain, permitting them to take over? Just happy ones? Unhappy ones? Family-related? Service-oriented? Totally self-serving?”

She’d been at the chalkboard for the last few minutes, but now returned to her chair, part of the circle again. “We often don’t even try to control what we’re thinking. And thank God—literally!—that nobody knows what those thoughts are. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

Andi’s glance circled the group as she wondered how many had secrets that they, like she, wouldn’t want anyone else to know. Probably everyone.

“We often forget that God knows every one of our thoughts. These precede our moods, words and dealings with others—including what we do with what we have!”

Her eyes met those of each person. “It’s easier to consider how to spend money when you still have nine million or more left—but you do, right now, have money. So…what will you do with your paycheck or other sources of income?

“And you do have your life. What will you do with that? Settle for self-gratification or momentary pleasures? Or do you want it to count for something more…? Those are your decisions.”

Andi just sat there, not paying attention to the closing prayer, not really hearing it. What do I want from my life? she thought. From our money?

She had many questions; she did not know if they’d ever be answered.

Chapter Four

Gram was waiting at the top of the steps, then led the way into the sanctuary, which looked different with perhaps a hundred brightly clad people in the pews. Andi felt conspicuous coming into the front of the large, sunlit room, but followed as Gram started back the outside aisle.

Smiling and nodding to friends, Gram led the way into the empty fifth pew, to sit along the center aisle. Andi had stepped back to allow Keith to precede her if he chose, but his hand on her elbow indicated that she should go first.

She wondered again about last night’s date. Might his having a not-too-unattractive, auburn-haired woman sitting by him in Sunday School and church cause resentment?

Gram got her attention. “That blonde—the third one coming into the front row of the choir—she’s Zack’s wife. Keith’s mother. A soprano…”

Andi smiled and nodded, but with the organ playing and choir sitting down, each member with head bowed, it seemed inappropriate to respond verbally.

“You’ll meet her at Karlyn’s—she did mention she’d like you to come to the picnic, didn’t she?”

Andi whispered, “Karlyn invited me after class.”

There was the call to worship. The singing of a hymn, which sounded familiar. Scripture reading and prayer. An outstanding, joyful choir anthem. Taking up an offering—and she had no idea how much to put in. Checks sent to charities were large, but here…?

Those beside her were holding envelopes something like Mother had used, so that gave no clue. She withdrew a ten-dollar bill from her wallet, folded it in half, then over again, and placed it, number side down, in the deep, highly polished wooden collection plate. As she passed it on, she noted bills of various denominations among the envelopes, so assumed she’d done all right.

The pastor, probably under forty, seemed comfortable conducting the service, and his sermon was well organized and interesting—though Andi’s attention was often on those around her.

Was Keith’s father here? She wished there had been pictures to go with the detective’s information.

And that reminded her to take her camera along. Candid shots shouldn’t raise suspicion, and she’d like to show them to Dad. And she’d probably want to look at them, also, after returning.

Andi had shared Gram’s hymnal for the two songs before the sermon, but Keith held his toward her for the last one. As she reached to hold it, her forefinger touched his. Did he notice that? Or hers quickly drawing away?

He was an excellent baritone, and she found herself smiling up at him as she shifted from melody to alto. As the organist put in extra notes between the last two verses, he whispered, “You have a lovely voice, Miss Marker.”

And she whispered back, “So do you, Mr. McHenry,” then wondered if people noticed their grinning at one another.

Gram knew everyone, and seemed to feel Andi should meet them, but it was Keith who introduced her to his parents, both of whom appeared friendly and outgoing.

“We’ll see you at Karlyn’s,” Shelby said. “I must get home and pick up the salad and cake—and get. into casual clothes.” She turned back to add, “Be sure to bring your swimsuit, Annie. It’s been warm enough that the water in the pool’s quite comfortable.”

“I—didn’t expect to swim, so didn’t bring one.”

“Don’t worry. I have extras.” And she was gone.

Andi looked after her, wishing she’d said not to bother. Oh, well, that didn’t matter—until she noticed Keith looking at her strangely, and wondered if he might be remembering her statement about usually wearing pants.

Back in her room, she hung her lightweight linen pants in the closet and took out a brightly colored sundress. It was long and full enough that the scars would remain hidden even when she was seated.

Keith had said he’d see Gram and her shortly, and she wondered if he might be going to pick up his date. I hope he does, she told herself. That would get her over this wondering, this silliness, this.…

No acceptable word came to mind as she leaned closer to the mirror to apply lipstick. But when she looked into the blue eyes in the mirror, she noted that the slight smile on her lips had failed to reach them.

Replacing the tube’s cap, she stifled a sigh. Rule number one, Miss Annie Marker, or whoever you are: Thou shalt not fall in love. Which was fine to say— but why did she even consider that warning?

Why should that word, love, have even entered her mind?

She was in the kitchen when Keith entered by way of the back door. “All ready?”

“I think so,” Gram said, “but it doesn’t feel right.”

“Why is that?”

“Karlyn made me promise not to bring more than one dish, so that’s the macaroni salad there.”

“You’re a literalist if I ever saw one. You cover the top with a whole bottle of stuffed green olives and a can of big, ripe ones, so you’re still bringing several foods, though they’re now in one dish!”

“Well—” tossing her head “—the kids like olives!”

“Yes, we do!” He popped the black one from the very center into his mouth. “So let’s go, ladies. My car’s blocking the alley.”

Andi opened the back door on the driver’s side as he assisted Gram into the front one. “Let me fasten the seat belt,” he said and drew it across. “You care for the salad.”

“And the olives,” Gram murmured.

“And the olives.”

They tried to include Andi in their conversation, but she didn’t identify the man about whom they were speaking—someone scheduled for a brain scan. They’d driven through town and out past the high school when Gram pointed. “That big stone house on the right is Karlyn’s. It was at the edge of town when they built it—before Joe Mueller died and his kids sold the farm to a developer!”

Andi wondered at the disapproval in her tone, but Keith reminded, “That was their right, Gram.”

“But Jake always had a fit about this sort of thing!”

“Not enough to make him put that stipulation in his will, however…”

Andi was brought back again to the major reason that she was here. In addition to getting to know her relatives, she must make sure that decisions concerning Dad’s will, and her own, cover as many bases as possible.

“Those cars nearer the garage won’t be able to get out, dear,” Gram murmured as Keith backed into the driveway.

He turned off the ignition. “But the road’s narrow through here, and I prefer not parking along its side. I’ll move mine if anyone wants to leave early.”

They were instantly surrounded by four excited children, introduced to her as Evelyn’s Brock and Melody, and Karlyn’s Jake and—Traci?

Uh-oh, that investigator had made at least a couple of slipups. Jake was undoubtedly a nickname for the “John” he’d reported, but he must have heard the name of the beautiful, dark-haired five-year-old and assumed her to be a boy, Tracy! She’d watch more carefully for other errors.

Karlyn had come to the corner of the house to invite them to the backyard, and Keith was escorted, tugged, by Brock and Jake. Gram, handing Andi the salad, was “helped” by Melody and Traci.

Keith’s parents were already there, Shelby giving Andi a special smile. “We’re so glad you joined us! Mom’s probably told you we have quite a few family get-togethers, and there’s always room for friends.”

Zack—tall, burly and middle-aged—strode over to take Andi’s hand. “I understand we let you down yesterday.”

“Nothing to feel sorry about, Mr. McHenry,” she reassured. “I’m enjoying my stay in Sylvan Falls.”

“Great!” His other hand clasped her shoulder. “It’s a wonderful place to live, and it’s good to hear that you appreciate it. If you’d like to stay indefinitely, we can keep putting off work on your car.” He waggled his eyebrows the way Dad sometimes did.

This can’t be genetic, can it? she wondered. But such a simple thing put her at ease. “Did your mother tell you I may stick around for a while?”

He grinned. “You’ll find that in our family, good news gets passed around real quick.”

She was glad that he stressed the word, implying they didn’t gossip in negative ways. “She told me about the carnival at the end of the week.”

His shoulders slumped and hands dropped to his sides. His words—“Don’t remind me of that!”—could have indicated despair, had his eyes not been bright with excitement.

“What’s your part in all this?”

“Well, for starters, we have floats to finish.”

“Floats? Plural?”

“Yep. Anyone can enter—churches, organizations, businesses. I happen to be active in First Church and in Rotary, and have a business.”

“You don’t need to help with all of them, do you?”

His wife responded to that. “For your own wellbeing, Annie, don’t even suggest he not work on all of them!”

Shelby was obviously teasing, so Andi felt safe asking, “Isn’t there something like conflict of interest involved here? I presume there’s some prize involved.”

Zack admitted, “They gave me a hard time about that when the garage won once, six years ago. But the church has received first prize—all of twenty-five dollars, incidentally!—six or eight times, and Rotary at least that often.”

“Congratulations!” Her head tipped forward in a nod of approbation. “So what’s the theme for yours this year?”

“Ah-ha! That’s what they all ask.” Again the active eyebrows. “But you have to wait like everyone else.”

Phyllis Bastian, Gram’s eldest offspring, was carrying food from the house to the long picnic tables, while Hal, her husband, turned hamburgers and hot dogs on the gas grill. “Hi, Annie.” He was waving long-handled tongs high in the air, and she recalled that he was a mechanic at Zack’s dealership. “I hear Keith made an unfortunate decision about your car yesterday.”

Keith didn’t look at all apologetic. “Once in a while I do make a decision.”

“…And now that I see what a knock-out you are, Annie,” he declared, “I see why he didn’t come ask for advice.”

“What can I say?” Keith looked at her with a crooked smile as he was dragged off by Brock and Jake for some game involving a beach ball.

Phyllis, whom Andi knew to be a second-shift supervisor of nursing at the community hospital, introduced her daughter, Evelyn Pinchot, as mother of Brock and Melody. They had little chance to visit, however, as the children soon came running to ask about putting on swimwear.

“Is Uncle Keith going in with you?”

Her daughter was bouncing up and down on tiptoe. “Can we, Mama? Can we go in swimming? He’ll watch us.”

“Is he putting on a suit and going in with you?”

The little girl’s lower lip pushed out in a pout, and it was Brock who turned to beg Keith, who had followed them. He rumpled the six-year-old’s hair. “Not. now, kids. Look at that platter of hamburgers and hot dogs and the rest of the spread! There’s no way I’m about to miss that!”

“Well, how ‘bout later? Will you go then?”

“We’ll see.”

They ran to check the last of the meat, being piled on top of the others by their grandfather. Their mother stood there, shaking her head. “I never thought you’d get away with such an evasive answer, Keith.”

“I can’t believe it either.”

Karlyn steered all four of the little ones toward the “wash-up station,” beside the house, stocked with a supply of towels. Evelyn followed, murmuring, “It’s simpler to prevent squirting one another with liquid soap than to give comfort after it’s in their eyes.”

Watching his sister with the children, Keith commented, “Karlyn’s a very good mother, and also an excellent second-grade elementary school teacher.”

Andi nodded, then asked, “Is everyone here?” She knew that Gram’s son, Bradley, had not arrived with his wife—nor had their daughter, who lived in Dalton.

“Aunt Paula doesn’t make it to many of our gatherings, but Vanessa usually does.” They were walking toward the laden table. “Will Uncle Brad be here, Gram?”

“I’m—not sure. Paula’s in the middle of that big defense case, you know. And Brad…is between jobs again.”

Keith’s lips tightened. “Oh.”

Oh?

“I called Vanessa—left a message on her answering machine. Unfortunately, I seldom get through to her.”

Andi wondered whether Gram’s disappointment about “getting through” to this granddaughter had to do only with the impersonality of equipment.

The long table, covered with red-and-white checked paper and with matching red tableware, was filled with meats, salads, rolls, vegetables, casseroles, relishes and beverages. Karlyn was the only one not seated when she announced, “Last chance, everyone. Look around. If things aren’t reported as missing, they won’t be forthcoming.”

Andi’s laughter joined that of Keith and the others. Then Karlyn was offering a prayer of thankfulness before everyone began talking at once and starting dishes of food around the table. Plates were loaded. “No, Melody, you can’t eat just pickles and chips,” Andi heard the child’s mother remind her.

A frankfurter fell off the platter as it got to Melody. “Yes, you may call the dog,” Karlyn said.

A second hot dog got dislocated at Karlyn son’s place. “Really? Another accident? Well, we’ll just put it up here on the table till the picnic’s over,” his mom said.

Andi, an only child, was enchanted by the teasing, the joking, the good-humored give-and-take, the sharing of memories—and just plain love evident around this table. She answered when people spoke directly to her, but was content to listen and observe, her gaze moving from person to person and ears catching not only words but nuances as she stored memories.

The food was delicious, but this whole experience even more wonderful.

Everyone was so stuffed later that it was decided to postpone pie and homemade ice cream until later. The remaining food was carried back to the kitchen, where the big job was finding and filling smaller containers for leftovers.

But Andi wasn’t part of that for long, as Brock and Jake coerced her and Keith into playing a game of croquet. “I’ve only done this twice in my life,” she admitted, “so you must promise not to be too hard on me.”

Jake informed them, “Brock plays better than I do, so he should be her partner. And I’ll play with Uncle Keith.”

Keith put a stop to protests from Brock. “Hey, guys, you asked Miss Marker to play, and now act like this? How would you feel if no one wanted to be your partner?”

Jake tried to bluster his way out, but Brock came to her. “I’m—sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

She had an almost overwhelming desire to throw her arms around him, to hug him close. “It’s all right, Brock.”

The six-year-old looked suspiciously close to tears. “I hate being left out!”

Never having been around young children much, she glanced up at the tall man beside her, needing guidance. Keith gave the tiniest of nods, which encouraged her to say, “Nobody grows up enough to not get hurt feelings sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

She didn’t look at Jake until he took a step closer and offered. “I’ll be partners with you if you want me to.”

Leaning over, she spread her arms to hug both of them. Looking up over their heads, she said to Keith, “I can play golf. Could that help at croquet?”

“I sorta doubt it. And to the best of my knowledge, the government hasn’t got around to using their multimillion-dollar grants to check out this extremely important matter.”

He looked and sounded so serious that the boys didn’t recognize this as humor, and Andi felt unexpectedly warmed at this interplay between him and her.

They decided against playing as couples; each would be on his own. This was accomplished with such laughter and enthusiasm that other family members gravitated to the lower, level portion of the property to cheer them on.

She was still trying to maneuver back through the middle wicket when Brock’s ball hit the finish stake, followed shortly by Keith’s. And she was delighted when Jake’s then made it on his second turn. Picking hers up, she carried it back to them. “You guys are wonderful!”

She’d half expected to play another game, but they were eager to swim. Evelyn produced suits and towels for Brock and Melody, who ran inside with their cousins to change. Shelby was beside Andi as they walked back up the gentle slope. “I brought a dark blue tank suit and a multicolored maillot, so you take your pick.”

I’d like to graciously refuse, she thought, even though I used to love showing off how good I look in swimwear. However, I’m here to learn about my family, not to be rude.

Accepting them with thanks, she went with her hostess into the huge stone house that looked as though it had been there for centuries instead of… “How long have you lived here, Karlyn?” she asked, after complimenting her on how perfect everything was.

“Nearly nine years. My ex-husband is co-owner, along with his father, of a large building supply company on this side of Dalton. They were just beginning their expansion into the construction business, as well—so our dream house was one of their first projects. Planned as a showpiece.”

“I love the spaciousness, the openness you’ve achieved. And all these windows!” Andi’s home in Chicago, built of huge sandstone blocks for some cattle dealer in the late 1800s, was almost castle-like with its many high-ceilinged rooms, but was darker inside than this house.

“My attorney fought hard to save this. It’s a lot of house for just the kids and me, but I couldn’t give it up.”

Karlyn put on a blue princess-style suit, while Andi changed into the maillot, and they walked together out the side door onto a wooden deck and down the steps to the large in-ground pool. The four children were joyfully and loudly enjoying the water. And Keith, at the far end, looked fabulous in white swim trunks.

But Andi’s stomach tightened. She wasn’t only seeing his long, tanned legs and torso; there was a striking blonde sitting beside him on the wood-crafted settee!

“Ahhh,” Karlyn murmured. “Vanessa did come.”

Andi should have recognized from Gram’s pictures that the tall, slim, golden-skinned woman was Brad and Paula’s only child. Walking toward them, Andi was even more conscious than usual of those ugly still-red scars on her leg and thigh. Some day she’d check with a plastic surgeon, but wasn’t yet ready to face another operation.

Karlyn continued, “…I’m glad she’s here. We don’t see enough of her anymore.”